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FREEDOM 



A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS 



BY 



Alice Groff 




Boston : Richard G. Badger 

The Gorham Press 
1904 



Copyright 1904 By Alice Groff 



All Rights Reserved 



LJBRARY of CONGRESS 

Two Copies Received 

JUL 19 1904 
(\ CoDyrlsrht Entry 

CLASS Js- XXc. No. 

^2 / n 

COPY B ' 



\ 



^ 



^ 






Printed at the Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 



CHARACTERS 

MARGARET LATHROP— Teacher of vocal 
music. 

ROSE DELACOUR— Painter. 

' MAX HELDEN— Socialistic agitator. 

ANGUS M'KENZIE— Scientific Specialist in 
==> Sociology. 

s SUSAN— Maid servant to Margaret. 

Action takes place in house of Margaret Lath- 
rop and her brother, in one of our large Eastern 
cities. 



ACT ONE— CRANKS 

Scene — Spacious, well-proportioned, well- 
lighted room, artistically but not expensively fur- 
nished. Color-scheme, fawn, shading upward in- 
to olive- green, downward into olive brown. Large 
bay window in centre, filled with growing plants. 
Brick fire-place across corner at one end, sur- 
mounted by wooden shelves, containing books, a 
striking clock, and a few curios, making effective 
touches of color. Set of hanging shelves at op- 
posite corner of room holding jars and pots of 
foreign ware in bright hues. Fine photographs 
in frames upon the walls, with a bit done in oil 
here and there, and interspersed with interesting 
pieces of bas-relief in plaster. Grand piano, with 
well-filled music shelves near. Floor stained and 
bare except for two oriental rugs of good size in 
dull colors. A large, luxurious-looking divan 
right front furnished in Turkish fashion with 
innumerable richly colored cushions. Comfortable 
chairs here and there fashioned after the new 
art — the wood stained in dull green or brown, 
with separate upholstery in leather to match in 
color. Windows with leaded panes above, dork- 
cream Madras sash-curtains below and severely 
draped on sides with straight folds of oriental 
stuff in dull colors, falling to the floor. Medium- 
sized plaster cast of ''Victory of Samothrace" on 



6 FREEDOM 

piano, a cast of the 'Winged Mercury'' sur- 
mounting music-shelves. A daintily appointed 
open zvriting desk in dull-green zvood standing 
out somezvhat on floor to left front. A door at 
either end of room, one leading to staircase, an- 
other to adjoining chamber. 

{Curtain rises revealing Margaret Lathrop 
seated in chair in front of desk. The unique fash- 
ion of her gozvn and its fitness to herself betrays 
artistic taste and originality. Her right hand 
resting on desk holds an open letter. Her ex- 
pression shozvs her lost in pleasing thought. It is 
evening. There is a rap at the door.) 

Margaret (zvithout turning, and placing letter 
deep in a certain pigeon-hole of desk) — Come! 

Susan (opening door) — A gentleman to see 
you, miss — Mr. McKenzie. 

Margaret — Show him up, Susan. 

(Angus McKenzie enters — tall, slender, stu- 
dentish-air, quietly dressed. As he faces Mar- 
garet, they both laugh their pleasure at the sight 
of each other. Angus comes forzA^ard and takes 
both of Margaret's hands.) 

Angus — How good it is to see you again ! Five 
years ! and you look as if it were yesterday ! The 
Queen of Sheba still — only more so ! Do you 
remember how we used to call you the Queen of 
Sheba? 



FREEDOM 7 

Margaret — Oh yes! Your tribute to my 
gowns, which I always designed myself, as I 
still do. 

Angus — Our tribute to the way you wore those 
gowns (admiringly) y carried them off, as it were. 
What a charming studio! You prosper in your 
profession — your art, I should say, I suppose. 

Margaret — Yes, modestly. I happen to be the 
fad here as to vocal training. Foreign prestige 
you know (smiling). 

Angus — True merit, I am prepared to swear. 
There was never a more conscientious worker 
than you were when we were in Paris, together. 

Margaret — And how you worked, too! And 
you return to your native land at last — 

Angus — Poorer than a church mouse, as I have 
always been! (With a quiet little characteristic 
shrug. ) 

Margaret — But your book? 

Angus — Scarcely more than a statistical record 
of investigations, and not well received at that. 

Margaret — Oh you disparage yourself — as 
you always used to do — out of a morbid modesty. 

Angus — No! Scientific works have but a 
limited public at best, and mine is simply the de- 
tail of the research of a specialist — tedious and 
with infinitesimally small results. 

Margaret — But it has attracted favorable com- 



8 FREEDOM 

ment enough to make me proud of you. 

Angus — Yet it brings me in such a pittance 
that you would smile at the thought of my gain- 
ing a livelihood by such work. 

Margaret — But you have been called to the 
assistant professorship of Sociology in our uni- 
versity ! 

Angus — Yes! And I have prostituted my 
character in accepting. 

Margaret — Prostituted your character? 

Angus — You know how I loathe universities 
and colleges — the whole system of modern educa- 
tion. You know something of my ideals for the 
social order in this regard. 

Margaret — Then you have not changed from 
the radical ideas of those Paris days ? 

Angus — You naturally concluded that I had 
because of my acceptance of this position? 

Margaret — Of course. 

Angus — No! No! Rather have those ideals 
deepened and intensified. But have you changed ? 
You seemed to share those ideas then — in part at 
least. 

Margaret — No! I have not changed. My 
ideas, like yours, have only deepened and intensi- 
fied. But you remember that though we were in 
sympathy, upon broad general principles, we 
differed somewhat as to details and as to appli- 



FREEDOM 9 

cations of principles ? 

Angus — Yes, I remember. But I never could 
quite get you down to details as to applications of 
principles. You are a woman, you know — you 
belong to the generalizing sex. But you formu- 
lated, if I recollect rightly, a great ultimate ideal 
for the social order, that I was in sympathy with 
on broad lines, but that was too vague for me to 
get a working hold upon. Do you still hold it? 
Formulate it for me again ! ( Gazing admiringly 
at Margaret.) 

Margaret {smiling) — Indeed I do still hold it. 
{As if reciting.) I believe that the whole social 
question would be solved if everybody lived to 
make this world as healthful, as beautiful, as in- 
spiring a place as possible for women to bring 
well-born children into. {Finishing with a very 
serious and earnest expression.) 

Angus {laughing) — Yes, that was it, and it 
sounds axiomatic so to speak. Do you know I 
find myself more in sympathy with it than ever? 

Margaret {with fervor) — Oh how happy it 
makes me, to hear you say that ! 

Angus — Well you see I have the stock-breed- 
er's passion with regard to the human race. All 
my enthusiasm of life is in the direction of dis- 
covering methods to make the finest possible 
creatures out of human beings. But, how to be- 



lo FREEDOM 

gin — that's the question ? 

Margaret — Oh, the discussions we used to 
have — you and I and Rose Delacour and Max 
Helden — upon this point! Do you remember 
Rose and Max? 

Angus — I do indeed! Though I have never 
heard from them since. 

Margaret — They will be here tonight. I 
thought it would be interesting to initiate a re- 
newal of our old gatherings. 

Angus (controlling expression of disappoint- 
ment) — Yes ! Do you see much of them ? 

Margaret — Rose I have seen a great deal of in 
the five years that have passed. 

Angus — And Max? 

Margaret — Max has been here only at rare 
intervals. He travels about lecturing on social- 
ism — haranguing the working people, on street- 
corners, living like a tramp most of the time that 
he may identify himself with the poor and op- 
pressed of the earth. 

Angus — And how does he get his livelihood? 

Margaret — Oh, he has a little patrimony — 
five hundred a year I believe ! 

Angus — Five hundred a year? That is two 
hundred more — ^^than — ! Has Miss Delacour 
made the success of painting that you have of 
music ? 



FREEDOM II 

Margaret — I am afraid not — poor dear little 
Rose! She is what the world calls a bad man- 
ager. She is possessed of a morbidly injudicious 
generosity, that is always getting her into debt. 

Angus — Her energies are rather spasmodic, 
too, I fancy. 

Margaret — Perhaps so! She does a very 
good piece of work now and then, however, that 
attracts an appreciative purchaser, but she has had 
a struggling time on the whole to keep herself 
and her mother, who died a year ago. 

Angus — I shall be glad to see her and Helden 
again. Are they still as rabid as ever against 
marriage ? 

Margaret (laughing) — More so if possible! 
You remember they thought that the only way to 
begin to work out my ideal for the social order 
was to abolish marriage. 

Angus — Oh, yes ! I remember. 

Margaret — They felt that this was the great- 
est obstacle to women's being able to bring well- 
born children into the world. 

Angus — And you — did you agree with them — 
I cannot quite remember? 

Margaret — No-o! Not — exactly. I felt that 
marriage as an institution is one of the greatest 
obstacles in the way of this ideal, but I did not — 
I do not believe in trying to abolish it — yet! — I 



L.tfC. 



12 FREEDOM 

believed — I still believe — in — in — reforming it — 
from within. 

Angus (.earnestly) — In reforming it from 
within? How? (A rap.) Susan (opens door 
and announces) — Miss Delacour and Mr. Helden. 

(Rose and Max enter. Rose dark, petite, coun- 
tenance denoting emotional temperament, dressed 
dowdily hut somewhat showily. Max, large, 
blond, handsome, self-important in a rough cloth 
suit and negligee shirt.) 

Margaret (moving forward and shaking 
hands with Rose and Max) — Do you remember 
Mr. McKenzie? 

Rose — Oh. yes! (To McKenzie) — Margaret 
told us that we were to have this pleasure. It is 
a great pleasure to see you again, looking just 
the same. 

Angus — You are very kind. The pleasure is 
mutual. Seeing you brings back the old Paris 
days. 

Max (to McKenzie) — Well, sociologist! What 
have you been doing for socialism? 

Angus — As rabid as ever, I see! Well, I've 
not been doing much for socialism — but some- 
thing I hope for social advancement. 

Max — For social advancement, heh? 

Angus — Yes. Something that the social order 
will profit by (with a smile and a gentle shrug) — 



FREEDOM 13 

a thousand years from now, perhaps. 

Max — A thousand years from now ! And 
meanwhile what a hell the social order is, for ev- 
erybody but the pampered few ! 

Margaret — There's Max for you ! The social 
order is a hell — always a hell ! Now, Max, own 
up; isn't there a little drop of heaven in it oc- 
casionally ? 

Max {gloomly) — For such as you perhaps — 
who are a success in it — by pandering to conven- 
tion. 

Angus — Pandering to convention? What do 
you mean? 

Max {not heeding Angus) — You — who never 
trouble yourself about how the underhalf lives. 

Rose — Oh, Max! that isn't fair. Margaret 
lives a very earnest working life, as you know, 
and she began when she was only fifteen years 
old to make her own way in the world^ and — 

Margaret — There ! there ! Rose dear — 

Rose {insistently) — And she has been hus- 
band to her mother, and father to her younger 
sisters and brothers until they could take care of 
themselves, and she helps poor young women by 
teaching them for nothing, — 

Margaret — Rose, dear! There is no need to 
defend me thus, besides Max doesn't quite mean 
what he says. {To Max.) I should like you to 



14 FREEDOM 

understand though, Max, that I consider my 
work in the world quite as definitely for the good 
of the social order as yours is. Of course you 
don't see it that way, but that is because you are 
a bigot. 

Max — A bigot? 

Margaret — Yes, the worst sort of bigot. The 
bigot of liberalism, so called! 

Max — How can I enjoy this world when I see 
so many of my fellow beings tyrannized over, 
trampled upon, robbed of their rights by the rich 
and powerful? 

Margaret (smiling) — Do you count me among 
the tyrannizing rich and powerful ? 

Max — How can I help but disapprove of those 
who give any countenance to luxury, to fine 
clothes, to the aesthetics of life, while their fellow- 
beings shiver and starve? 

Rose (excitedly) — Yes! It is terrible to think 
of! Max has convinced me that I have no right 
to go on painting pictures for the rich to enjoy. 

Margaret — Why, Rose! Rose! 

Rose — That I should throw up this vain and 
useless life and try to serve my fellow men. 

Angus — And add one more to the shivering 
and starving horde by leaving the ranks of the 
economic workers. 

Rose — Oh, no! Not that! I must work — but 



FREEDOM 15 

I shall go far, far away from here. I shall find 
something to do that will make me feel myself 
more one with the poor and oppressed of the 
earth — some humble occupation. 

Margaret — But my dear Rose, what humble 
occupation are you fitted for? 

Rose — I can become fitted — 

Margaret — Why, Rose dear, you have spent 
the best years of your life in culture for that for 
which you have the most definite native talent, 
and now you propose to go into some humbler 
occupation for which you are unsuited by both 
nature and training. 

Max — Training! Culture! These words set 
me on fire! What opportunity for culture and 
training do the workers of the earth — the pro- 
ducers — have? Those who are robbed to give 
to the cultured and trained their idle and luxur- 
ious existence? 

Angus — Come ! Come ! Fire-eater ! Be a little 
more reasonable! The producers, as you call 
them, are not the only workers of the earth. 

Max — Show me the others ! 

Angus — Are not those who labor with their 
minds to find means of advancement and eleva- 
tion for the social order, workers as well? Do 
not such workers need culture and training for 
their work? 



i6 FREEDOM 

Rose (nervously) — Yes, but Max and I think 
that if everybody worked at some simple manual 
labor, the social question would be solved, and 
there would be no need to labor with the mind to 
find schemes for benefiting society. 

Angus — Ah ! 

Rose (more earnestly) — Oh^ yes, and he 
thinks that the more intellectual we become the 
worse the social order grows. He would do 
away with books and study ; he would have us all 
learn from nature and life, and read only the 
record of the facts of life from day to day. 

Max — You report me well, my dear Rose! 
But surely you will endorse this last, Margaret! 
I remember your saying long ago that books 
were a dead issue or something of that sort, and 
I really began to think that you were becoming a 
little bit advanced. 

Margaret — How condescending you are, 
Max ! I meant books as mere literature. I think 
that literature as such is a dead issue. I think 
that the time will come when Milton and Shaks- 
peare will be shelved ; when the aesthetics of ex- 
pression in writing shall be universal ; when 
poetry shall be the language of the daily news- 
paper. 

Max — Hear! Hear! 

Angus — Yes, and this is the quarrel that I 



FREEDOM 17 

have with universities and all educational insti- 
tutions of the day. They hinder this sort of evo- 
lution as to writing, as to all true knowledge of 
life. 

Max — And not only do educational institu- 
tions hinder the advancement of the social order, 
but all other institutions that are based upon tra- 
dition, and none with such absolutely deadening 
eflfect as the institution of marriage. 

Angus — At it still, Max! Well, I grant you 
that the institution of marriage deserves to have 
a great many crimes laid at its door. 

Max — I am glad to hear you acknowledge as 
much. 

Angus — But where you and I differ^ my dear 
Helden, is that you would abolish — wipe out — all 
these institutions at one fell swoop, while I would 
reform them from within, as Margaret would 
say. 

Max — In a word, you are the coward of con- 
vention ! 

Angus (with dignity) — In a word, I am evo- 
lutionary, while you are revolutionary! 

Margaret — Yes, this is the rock on which 
Max and I split. Of course marriage makes bond 
slaves of men and women in many cases. I 
should be glad to see it die, as an institution. 

Max — And what do you do to help it die ? 



i8 FREEDOM 

Margaret — Wait, Max, till you hear me out. 
I should not wish to see it die until some better 
institution develops to take its place. I am as 
Angus says — evolutionary and not revolution- 
ary. 

Max — ^How would the great crisal strides of 
development ever have been made if everybody 
had waited for evolution to bring them about. 

Angus — Evolution brought about all the crisal 
strides in development before you rabid revolu- 
tionists appeared upon the scene, and I believe 
that it will continue to do so even now that you 
are here. 

Max — You are facetious ! 

Angus — In a word, my dear fellow, the social 
order is an organism that will develop of the in- 
ward urgency of its own life, as all organisms do, 
and the noisy sputtering of one little cell is not 
going to work miracles of growth in a night. 

Max — It is the individual cell that is the pio- 
neer, — • 

Angus — It is the unanimity of many, many 
cells, my dear Helden, working faithfully and 
patiently together toward a great social ideal that 
is the only guarantee of true social growth, of 
true social advancement. 

Max — And what would you consider a great 
social ideal, if I may ask? 



FREEDOM 19 

Angus — Margaret expressed one, just before 
you came in — a rather comprehensive ideal — 
the making of this world the most healthful — 
comfortable. (Looking inquiringly and mis- 
chievously at Margaret.) 

Margaret — Beautiful and inspiring place — 

Angus — Beautiful and inspiring place, pos- 
sible, for woman to bring well-born children into. 

Max (looking curiouslv and rather contemp- 
tuously at McKenzie) — H'm! 

Angus — Isn't that plastic enough to cover 
pretty nearly everything? 

Max (pompously) — The greatest ideal that the 
social order can entertain is that of individual 
freedom. And how can human beings born in 
the slavery of marriage have any conception of 
freedom ? 

Margaret — You were born in the slavery of 
marriage ; how did you get your conception of 
freedom ? 

Angus — An ideal of freedom for the individ- 
ual, that is to be realized only at the expense of 
the best good of the whole social body — or at 
least of the greatest number — is not a great social 
ideal. 

Rose — But who is to decide what is the best 
good 01' the social body, or of the greatest num- 
ber? 



20 FREEDOM 

Angus — Only evolution can decide. 

Max — But how ? What do you mean ? 

Angus — ^That which the social body assimi- 
lates in time — makes a part of itself, so to speak 
— must be for the best good of the social order. 

Max — Well, isn't revolution a part of such 
evolution ? 

Angus — Yes. The revolution that is the uni- 
versalizing of individual revolutionary ideas. 

Max— Ah ! 

Angus {patronizingly) — But all individual 
revolutionary ideas are not destined to become 
socially universalized, and you revolutionary cells 
should remember this when you burn for indi- 
vidual freedom. 

Max {fiercely to Margaret) — And you ! Would 
you marry after the conventional fashion ? 

Margaret — What do you mean by the con- 
ventional fashion? 

Max {looking furtively at Angus) — Oh you 
know well enough that I do not mean with priest 
and book! I know that you are evolved beyond 
that, but would you give any man marital rights 
with regard to you? 

Margaret {slowly and quietly) — No! I 
would give no man marital rights with regard 
to me. 

Max — There speaks the woman I have thought 



FREEDOM 21 

you to be ! 

Margaret — Wait Max ! I would allow no man 
to support me. You see, I must always support 
myself. 

Max — ^Splendid ! 

Rose — Yes, you would not let him support you, 
any more than you would support him. 

Margaret — No, Rose^, dear! 

Rose (very intensely and in a low voice) — 
Then you would live with the man you loved 
without legal sanction? 

Max (satirically) — Oh, no! The man she 
loved would have to come and live with her, and 
bring plenty of legal sanction along. 

Margaret (ignoring Max) — No, Rose, dear! 
Do you not see that if I lived openly with any 
man in the marriage relation without legal sanc- 
tion I should be unable to support myself? I 
should be obliged to give up my beautiful work 
in life. I should entirely lose my economic inde- 
pendence. 

Rose — Why ? How ? Margaret. 

Margaret — I should be boycotted by society — 
nobody would send me her daughter for lessons. 

Rose (more intensely and almost in a whisper) 
— Then you would do it secretly? 

Margaret — Never! This would be to live a 
lie in the social order. I could never do that. I 



22 FREEDOM 

might tell a lie under great pressure — a lie that 
would seem to me justifiable — but to live a lie, 
day in and day out, I should have to be a moral 
degenerate to keep that up. 

Rose — Then you would never marry, Mar- 
garet ? Never have a child ? 

Margaret — I would never marry if this in- 
volved my giving up my economic independence 
— my beautiful work — my already assumed re- 
sponsibilities to others. 

Max (with bitterness) — Then you will live 
the abortive existence of a woman who refuses to 
obey the primal instincts of humanity, the procre- 
ative impulse? 

Margaret — If I must — yes! But (smiling) 
I still live in hopes of finding a man — 

Angus — Who will — ? 

Margaret (with effort and in a low voice) — 
Who will be just and generous and sweet souled 
enough to give me the social protection of a legal 
marriage without claiming any of the "rights" 
that such marriage would secure to him. 

Max — What! And you would give to him in 
return — - 

Margaret (lifting her head and speaking 
proudly) — The same freedom that he would give 
to me — freedom of thought, freedom of heart, 
freedom of action. 



FREEDOM 23 

Max — Oh, no, you wouldn't. There is no wo- 
man alive capable of doing that when it comes 
to the pinch. 

Rose — How beautiful that would be, Margaret ! 
But would you expect him to be faithful to you 
in love? 

Margaret — I would expect nothing. But it is 
an ideal of mine that he — that we — should be 
faithful in love, because we couldn't help it. 
{Laughing softly.) 

Max — Well, you'll never find your man. Such 
an existence would be hell to any present-day 
masculine. 

Angus — And why, pray? 

Max — It would be hell to the man who be- 
lieved in marriage and equally hell to the man 
who didn't. See ! 

Margaret — It would not be hell to the man 
who feels as I do about marriage. In such a 
union only could a man and woman both realize 
— in one line of life at least — that individual free- 
dom that you are always talking about. 

Max — Bah ! And you would go through such 
a farce as that to set each other free^ when you 
could be just as free without it? 

Margaret — No, Max! We could not both 
be free without. A woman can never be as free 
as a man in the present social order, but she 



24 FREEDOM 

could have the greatest possible freedom in such 
a marriage as that — 

Angus — And this is the way in which you 
would reform marriage from within? 

Max — Yes, reform marriage so as to free wo- 
man and enslave man. 

Margaret — In what way could such a mar- 
riage enslave a man? 

Max — ^How could a man be free if he were 
legally married ? In the eyes of the law he would 
be a criminal if he were not faithful to his wife. 

Angus — Is the average married man of today 
a slave as regards the law in that particular? 

Max — I leave you to answer that question to 
your own satisfaction. I must be going. {To 
Margaret.) Rose proposes to spend the night 
with you, I believe? 

Margaret — Yes. Good night, Max. Come 
again. 

Max — Thank you. {To Rose.) Ta ta. Rose. 
{To McKende.) We must have another round 
at this. Good bye ! 

Angus — Hold on. Max. I'll join you. {To 
Rose.) Good evening. Miss Delacour; better 
change your mind about giving up painting. 
{To Margaret at the door.) When can I see you 
again ? 

Margaret {warmly and in a low voice) — 



FREEDOM 25 

Whenever you will. (Returning toward Rose 
and seating herself in a large chair) . Now Rosey 
Posey, come sit on my knee and tell me all about 
this wild, wild thing that you are going to do. 

Rose — No! no! Margaret dear, not on your 
knee (bringing a low cushioned stool), but at 
your feet — so (seating herself with face turned 
slightly away from Margaret, and with her arm 
resting on Margaret's lap.) 

Margaret — Now are we quite comfortable? 

Rose — So cosey. (Gating out absent-mind- 
edly.) 

Margaret — Well, sweetheart ! 

Rose — Oh, where shall I begin! You know, 
Margaret, dear, that Max and I love each other, 
and we are so happy — at least one of us is. 

Margaret — Yes, dear. 

Rose — And you know that this began long 
ago — in Paris — at least for one of us. 

Margaret (very tenderly) — Yes, dear Rose. 

Rose — And you know what a great, great soul 
Max is ! How he believes in living for the whole 
social order, for the whole human family, instead 
of for one little family of his own. 

Margaret — I hadn't known quite all this until 
now, dear; but go on. 

Rose — Well, Max has shown me plainly what 
idle, selfish, cowardly things women are in the 



26 FREEDOM 

social order. 

Margaret — Ah ! 

Rose — He has made me see that they just hang 
upon men and hinder them in all that they would 
do in great ways. 

Margaret (indignantly) — How does Max — 
but go on, dear ; pardon me. 

Rose — That it is wicked for a human being to 
want to bind another for life to any relation — 
that love of every kind should be free — that men 
are trying to bring about this kind of freedom 
as far as women will let them. 

Margaret — As far as women — oh! — but go 
on, dear — don't let me interrupt you. 

Rose — That woman should be unselfish enough 
to trample upon the restrictions of the social or- 
der as to herself, in this respect, should no longer 
desire marriage, should declare herself free to 
the whole world in these things. 

Margaret (with agitation) — And you! You 
agree with Max in all this? 

Rose — Of course, dear! How can I help but 
do so, when he makes it so plain ? 

Margaret — What does he make so plain? 

Rose — That a man with cosmic emotions can- 
not limit his love to one woman — that woman 
should be large-minded, large-souled enough to 
throw off wishing to limit her love to one man. 



FREEDOM 27 

Margaret — Ah! I see! 

Rose — He says, ''Think of a woman Hke 
Margaret" — meaning you, dear — "hmiting her 
love to one man." He admires you extrav- 
agantly — he calls you "Margaret the Magnifi- 
cent!" He has only one thing against you — that 
you surround yourself with comfort and beauty 
while others starve, that your life is not given to 
working for your fellow men. 

Margaret — ^What does Max do in the way 
of — but go on, Rose, dear — so you are going to 
give up your little home and the work that you 
love and — go where, dear — do what? 

Rose — I have succeeded in renting my pretty 
little home, all that dear mother had to leave me. 

Margaret — And this will keep you from want 
at least — until — - 

Rose — Yes. And I am going to join the 
Morris Colony and do what my hands find to 
do, while — while — 

Margaret {bending her face down to Rose 
with a startled look) — While what, dear? 

Rose — While I am bringing a child into the 
world — Max's child and mine. 

Margaret {greatly agitated hut striving for 
calm) — Does Max know? Is he going with 
you? 

Rose — Yes, Max knows. No, he is not going 



28 FREEDOM 

with me. 

Margaret — He will join you later? 

Rose — No, Margaret dear. You do not un- 
derstand. (With gentle superiority.) We do 
not believe in marriage — Max and I — not even 
in a monogamous relation. He leaves me — free 
— as I leave him — to — to — love any one else — in 
— in the same way. 

Margaret (excitedly) — And your child, Rose! 
Does Max mean to help you support it — bring it 
up? Have you thought of that? 

Rose — Yes, I have thought of that. Max said 
that the Morris Colony would provide for it and 
me, on socialistic principles, as soon as I was es- 
tablished there, and that if the worst came to 
the worst, he would help me — but he may have 
other children to help provide for, and so I am 
glad — glad — 

Margaret — Glad that you have your little 
home to fall back upon. 

Rose — Yes. Max wanted me to sell it and 
spend the money in publishing his writings on 
social freedom^ — 

Margaret — But you did not — 

Rose — I could not — it is secured to me and — 
my child. 

Margaret — That is well, dear! (With dif- 
ficulty restraining her tears.) And when do you 



FREEDOM 29 

think of starting for the Morris Colony ? 

Rose — In a few days — all is ready. 

Margaret — Shall you go among perfect 
strangers ? 

Rose — No, I shall go to the Carters at first. 
Mrs. Carter is an old schoolmate of mine ; she 
and her husband joined the colony when it first 
started up. 

Margaret — Then there are married people in 
the colony? 

Rose — Oh, yes, dear. Did you think the 
whole colony thought as Max — and I do ? 

Margaret — I had hoped so, but no matter. 
You are sure of a kind reception ? 

Rose — Oh, yes, Margaret — as kind as you 
would give me. I could not say more, could I? 
(Rising and facing Margaret with a loving 
smile. ) 

Margaret — Oh, Rose, dear, you break my 
heart ! But what can I do ? You will write me ; 
you will let me know how you fare ; you will let 
me help you in every way that I can ? 

Rose — Yes, dear Margaret, I will let you help 
me if I have need. But I shall not write even to 
Max — except rarely — he does not think it wise — 
if I wish really to wean myself from old associa- 
tions. 

Margaret (rising and folding Rose in her 



30 FREEDOM 

arms) — You will need my help, dear! The social 
order is not yet developed to the point when a wo- 
man like you can walk alone. 

CURTAIN 



ACT TWO— THE NEW WOMAN 
Scene — The same. 

(Curtain rises on Margaret and Max. It is 
evening. The clock strikes seven. Max has just 
entered the room.) 

Max — It is good of you to let me come so 
early. I am a crank, I know, but I will not turn 
night into day, as society does. 

Margaret {graciously) — It is the wiser way 
to live doubtless. 

Max {complacently) — Yes, I make it a rule to 
be in bed by ten o'clock, and even earlier if my 
work permits. 

Margaret — One deprives oneself of a great 
deal of pleasure, of course. 

Max — Yes! But pleasure is not what I live 
for. 

Margaret — What do you live for? 

Max — Can you know me and ask that? For 
freedom — freedom for myself and others. 

Margaret — Freedom from what? 

Max — ^From all the trammelings of conven- 
tion — from the bondage of the law — from the 
tyranny of love — 

Margaret {in mock pious tones) — Good 
Lord, deliver us {laughing). You should write 
a newt litany, Max. But do you really fancy that 

31 



32 FREEDOM 

any one can be free to that extent, even in the 
anarchial state which is Krapotkins ideal? 

Max— Why not? 

Margaret — As individuals in the social or- 
ganism, our freedom can be no greater than the 
greatest freedom to which the organism as a 
whole has attained. 

Max (sneeringly) — There speaks McKenzie. 

Margaret — Perhaps. Angus is one of my 
Gamaliels. 

Max (drawing close to Margaret and gating 
at her zvith glowing eyes) — You are a slave, 
Margaret — 

Margaret — Perhaps. As all women are slaves. 
Somewhat greater slaves than you men are. 

Max — But you women need not be such slaves 
as you are. You worship idleness and luxury, — 
this is why you marry — this is why the hideous 
institution of marriage is perpetuated. 

Margaret {zvith quiet sarcasm) — What per- 
centage of women marry in the hope or the pros- 
pect of securing idleness and luxury? 

Max — The average woman marries to be sup- 
ported, doesn't she? 

Margaret {thoughtfully) — Women marry — 
for — for — many reasons. 

Max {insistently) — But chiefly — 

Margaret — Chiefly I think, — though they do 



FREEDOM 33 

not realize it perhaps, for the protection that mar- 
riage gives them in the exercise of their maternal 
instincts, — from the brutalities with which the 
social order persecutes those who exercise these 
instincts without marriage. 

Max — But will this brutal persecution ever 
cease, while women are such cowards that they 
do not defy it? 

Margaret — How can they defy it? 

Max — By becoming economically independent 
and then refusing to marry. 

Margaret — How blind you are. Max, to a 
fact that you do not wish to see! Have I not 
shown you plainly that a woman must lose her 
economic independence the moment she so defies 
the social order. 

Max — Your sort of economic independence 
perhaps. There are other ways of earning a liv- 
ing — more arduous — less luxurious — that would 
not be likely to suffer from boycotting. 

Margaret — You know perfectly well, Max, 
that the scrub-woman who is not what is called 
the honest mother of her child suffers from such 
persecution — and what is more, the child suf- 
fers. 

Max — How are free children ever to be born 
of mothers who are not free? 

Margaret — The mothers must be set free bv 



34 FREEDOM 

the fathers. It is men who must set both mother 
and child free. 

Max — And how, if I might ask? 

Margaret — Men must marry the women they 
wish to make mothers and then set them free. 

Max — Marry them, and then set them free? 
What madness ! It is marriage that enslaves 
both women and men. 

Margaret — It is the spirit in which men inter- 
pret marriage, — not the legal form, that makes 
them slaves. 

Max — ^What do you mean ? 

Margaret — You say that you want to help 
women to be free, — as free at least as men are. 
Now the only way for you to begin to bring this 
about is to marry some woman whom you love, 
— who is in sympathy with your ideas, — and then 
say to her, "I have purchased you from the law, 
I now release you from any marital obligation to 
me. You are free — as I am free." 

Max (mockingly) — "As I am free!" — I should 
be free indeed under any such arrangement as 
that! 

Margaret — You would be free as the woman 
would be. Would you wish to establish a differ- 
ent kind of freedom for men from that for wo- 
men? 

Max — Ah, then, Margaret, you are not a 



FREEDOM 35 

monogamist after all ! 

Margaret — What do you mean? 

Max — You would wish to be free to love other 
men — even if you were married. 

Margaret — I would wish to be free from vows 
to any man. But you misinterpret me, Max. I 
believe in monogamy, but I believe in it for two 
— di. woman and a man, not for a woman only. 

Max — And you would give yourself for life to 
one man in a strictly monogamous relation — 
such a woman as you are — many sided enough 
to be a compliment to a dozen men ? 

Margaret — I would give myself to one man in 
marriage as long — as we loved each other. 

Max — And you could not love more than one 
man at a time — come now, Margaret! Such a 
woman as you are ! 

Margaret — Of course I could love more than 
one man at a time, but for the exquisite and sub- 
tle intimacy of a marriage relation — what are 
you thinking of, Max? 

Max — This is where you women are not yet 
highly evolved. I can love a dozen women at 
once. I love all women — any woman. I love 
Rose, I love you (passionately) glorious 
Margaret! Think of the child that could be 
born of you and me — born in freedom. 

Margaret (in fine scorn) — Don't touch me, 



36 FREEDOM 

Max! Do you fancy for one moment that I 
would bring a child into the world handicapped 
by illegal birth ? 

Max {in passionate admiration) — How splen- 
did you are, Margaret! 

Margaret (ignoring Max) — Exposing his 
innocent head to the brutal persecutions, the 
blighting ban of the social order! 

Max (with fervor) — He could not help but be 
proud of such a mother as you ! 

Margaret (^^^7/ ignoring Max) — No! I have 
wished all through my mature life to be a mother, 
but I would rather die than bring a child into 
the world, except in accordance with my high- 
est ideal. 

Max (as if under a spell of fascination) — And 
what is this ideal? 

Margaret (suddenly becoming calm and look- 
ing very seriously at Max) — My child must have 
the reasonable prospect of physical and mental 
health, a high moral nature, and the best social 
environment that can be compassed. 

Max (still gazing at Margaret as in fascina- 
tion) — And marriage would be necessary to this? 

Margaret — No man should ever be the father 
of my child until he had first set me free, in the 
only way in which a woman can be free — at pres- 
ent. 



FREEDOM 37 

Max (breathlessly) — Margaret, if I should set 
you free so? — 

Margaret — You could not, Max. Only that 
man who fully shares my ideal can set me free. 

Max (released from the fascination) — Such a 
man does not exist, he would be a — a — "beyond 
man." 

Margaret — *'A beyond man!" I thank you 
for that word. I live in hopes of finding this be- 
yond man. 

Max (coldly) — He does not belong to this 
stage of evolution. 

Margaret — Perhaps not, but as there is al- 
ways in every stage of evolution an individual 
prototype of the coming more highly evolved 
species, I shall live in hopes of finding this pro- 
totype of "beyond man." 

Max — Then I must pass out of your life ? 

Margaret — No, Max! You have never been 
in my life in the sense which you imply — you 
remain where you always were. 

Max (preparing to leave, and with an un- 
pleasant smile) — You are kind! Good bye! 

Margaret — You will readily find consolation, 
my dear Max. Good bye. 

(Max goes out. Margaret returns to middle 
of room, and stands zvith bowed head and hands 
clasped before her. The clock strikes eight. 



38 FREEDOM 

There is a rap,) 

Susan (opening door to staircase) — Mr. Mc- 
Kenzie, Miss. 

Angus (entering) — Welcome the coming, 
speed the parting guest! I met Helden on his 
way out. He calls early. 

Margaret — Yes ; Max hates the social conven- 
tion which involves late hours. He retires regu- 
larly at ten o'clock. 

Angus — He looks as if he took that sort of in- 
dulgent care of himself. 

Margaret — I think perhaps we would all be 
healthier and happier if we lived so. 

Angus — Not until society is so ordered that 
one can have day-time for his play as well as his 
work, can this be practicable for us all ; and we 
should be a world of lunatics if he had no play 
time. 

Margaret (admiringly) — It is just like you, 
Angus, to look at it thus. You think for others 
just as for yourself. If all men were like you the 
social order would soon attain to my ideal. 

Angus — Oh^ Margaret, can you say this! 
Why, I am unable to formulate anything that 
unifies my own conflecting ideals, much less the 
conflicting ideals of a race. 

Margaret — Only the race as a whole can 
unify the conflicting ideals of a race. Must I 



FREEDOM 39 

teach this back to you ? But you ought to be able 
to unify your own. 

Angus — Yes, but live them out, is what I 
mean. 

Margaret — You can try. Come tell me about 
these conflicting ideals of yours. 

Angus (looking eagerly at Margaret) — One 
of my ideals is to be the husband of the woman 
I love, the father of her children, in a sweet home, 
where peace and beauty reign. Think of a poor 
devil like me — who has never had a home — hav- 
ing an ideal like that ! 

Margaret — Well, and another, that you can- 
not reconcile with this. 

Angus — Another is to give myself wholly up 
to this intellectual passion that dominates me — 
the passion for the study of the social organism 
and the best methods of its life and development. 

Margaret — And you cannot live for both of 
these ? 

Angus — Live for both of them ? Why, I can- 
not live for one. Dare I marry and be the 
father of children without being able to provide 
for those children? 

Margaret — But you could — 

Angus — Yes, I might be able to do this by not 
only stifling the other ideal, but by prostituting 
my faculties to a work that I loathe. 



40 FREEDOM 

Margaret — You mean university teaching? 

Angus — Yes; the sort of teaching that one 
must do in universities today — ^teaching in which 
one must stifle one's convictions and pervert the 
truth by being the subsidized mouthpiece of plu- 
tocratic poHtical interests. 

Margaret — Oh, Angus, how can you hold 
such a position, feeling so? 

Angus — I cannot; that's just it. I am in hell, 
as Max would say. 

Margaret — But you can throw it up tomor- 
row, my dear Angus. You can live as you did 
before. You still have your annuity, as you used 
to call it. 

Angus — Yes. It is truly an annuity — a gov- 
ernment annuity. Annuities are usually bought 
for the superannuated, you know. My poor dear 
uncle bought this for me, because he knew that 
I would never amount to anything, and he didn't 
want me to starve. 

Margaret — And you cannot live for your 
ideals on that? 

Angus — It is three hundred a year. You see 
readily that I could not live for either ideal on 
that, much less for both. I accepted the univer- 
sity position because I decided to give up the 
second ideal and live for the first. I wanted to 
marry the woman I love. 



FREEDOM 41 

Margaret — Does she know this? Would she 
marry you if she knew it ? 

Angus — What would you think of her if she 
would marry me, knowing it? 

Margaret (a little pale, and coldly) — I cannot 
speak for another woman. 

Angus — Speak for yourself, oh my queen 
among women. You must know that it is you 
I love, that I wish to marry. Speak for yourself, 
Margaret. 

Margaret — Oh, Angus! No, no! You must 
not keep this position. I love you too well to 
marry you if you are so untrue to yourself. 

Angus — Oh, Margaret — perfect woman, I 
knew that you must answer thus — and yet — here 
is the death blow to both of my ideals. 

Margaret — Why, Angus? 

Angus — Can you ask me why, Margaret ? Do 
you not see that I must resign my position, that 
I must go far away from you, that I must give 
myself up as far as I can to that other passion 
and starve myself if need be to foster it? 

Margaret — Angus^ dear, I cannot see the 
necessity for this. Oh, how can I make you un- 
derstand what I am thinking and feeling? 

Angus — Would you have me marry you and 
depend upon your earnings to keep me in the 
respectability that would be necessary to your 



42 FREEDOM 

husband — to the father of your children. No, 
no! Margaret; you would not have me do that! 

Margaret — If you loved me, as I loved you, 
you could do it. Women have done this sort of 
thing from time immemorial, — 

Angus — But, Margaret, my love, can you not 
ace the difference? It is cruel of you to speak 
thus. No! There is but one way out of it, now 
that I have spoken, and you have answered nobly 
— nobly, rightly, as you must answer, my glor- 
ious, beautiful Margaret. I must resign my posi- 
tion — I must go away — I must — oh, Margaret! 
{He takes her in his arms and kisses her re- 
peatedly, then seizes her hands and kisses them 
wildly again and again, and finally in a half 
blind fashion starts for the door.) 

Margaret {with a cry of anguish) — Oh, An- 
gus ! Have you no thought for me ? 

Angus {turning about with a startled look) — 
No thought for you, Margaret ! Am I not {in a 
dazed way) thinking only of you? 

Margaret — Not as I would think for myself, 
Angus — not as you think for yourself. 

Angus {growing suddenly very calm) — Not 
as you would think for yourself? {Slowly.) 
Not as I think for myself? No, Margaret! I 
begin to see — and this is what I shoidd do, only 
I cannot yet, dear. I must go away — go down 



FREEDOM 43 

into the desert, so to speak — and — and — learn to 
think — for you, as I think for myself. I see, 
Margaret ; I will try, I will try. In a year I will, 
come back to you and let you judge how I have 
succeeded — (Goes out slowly, and with bowed 
head.) 

Margaret (looking after him with love-filled 
eyes) — If you succeed I shall have found my 
"beyond man." Oh, Angus, Angus ! (Sinking 
down by the divan and burying her face in the 
cushions.) 

CURTAIN 



ACT THREE— SLAVES 

Scene — The same. A year later. 

{Curtain rises on Margaret and Max.) 

Max {sullenly) — You sent for me? 

Margaret — Yes, Max. I took it upon myself 
to send for you to see Rose. If you are human 
you must be moved to the heart at the sight of 
her. I fear she will lose her mind. 

Max — I will see her. {Condescendingly.) 

Margaret — I will call her and leave you alone 
together for a little while, later I will join you. 

Max — Yes, I wish for your presence. I have 
no desire to hide what I do. I must act consis- 
tently with my principles. 

Margaret — No, Max, you have no right to act 
consistently with what you call your principles, 
where others are concerned. Those others have 
just as good a right to have such principles as 
you have. That's the injustice of setting up 
small personal principles and wishing to force 
them upon others. In dealing with others one 
should try to act by universal principles. 

Max {with a sneer) — McKenzie again. 

Margaret — I occasionally have an idea of my 
own. Max, and this is my own. I will call Rose. 

{Margaret goes out door at left. Max walks 
impatiently up and down. Rose enters, thin and 
pale, with a wild hunted look, Hxing a feverish 

45 



46 FREEDOM 

gaze Upon Max.) 

Max {coldly) — Well, Rose! What do you 
want of me ? 

Rose (piteously) — Oh, Max ! Do you not love 
me any more? 

Max — Of course I love you, though not, as 
you well know, in that foolish, selfish, exclusive 
fashion that would bind me to you for life — that 
would prevent my loving some one else in the 
same way. 

Rose — Yes, yes. {Submissively.) I remem- 
ber. I do not ask you to love me so, only to love 
me — as you did — to love me and my little woman 
child — our child, Max ! 

Max — Where is — our child? 

Rose — With the Carters. You know I could 
not bring her with me. Max — not here. 

Max — And why not, pray? What silly 
cowardice is this? Do you think I would refuse 
to own her? {Pompously.) 

Rose — It is not that. Max. It is not that — oh, 
how can I make you see? I cannot let my little 
one grow up under the ban and scorn of the 
world. I must live a lie for her sake — or {wildly) 
die for her sake ! 

Max — Die for her sake ! Are you beside 
yourself, Rose? What good would that do? 

Rose — If I should die you would have to take 



FREEDOM 47 

her and acknowledge her. She need not have 
the ban of illegitimacy then. It is only her poor 
mother who fastens this upon her (wringing her 
hands. ) 

Max — ^This would not help matters any. I 
would not acknowledge her as my child by legal 
action. 

Rose (more wildly) — Then she must die, too — 

Max (roughly) — What a hell women make of 
the social order! What do you expect me to 
do? 

Rose (pleadingly) — Give me your name, Max 
— give me your name legally — or (zvildly again) 
I must make way with myself, and — and — her. 
(Looking about her in a frightened way.) 

Max — Call Margaret! 

Rose (opening door at left) — Margaret! 
Margaret, dear! Come! Come! 

Margaret (entering and putting her arms 
about Rose) — 'What is it, dear? (Soothingly.) 

Rose (hiding her face in Margarefs bosom) — 
Max asked for you. 

Margaret — What have you to say to me, 
Max? 

Max — Rose has gone back on all her princi- 
ples. She has brought my child into the world, 
in the way in which I want my child to be born, 
and now she threatens to kill herself and it un- 



48 FREEDOM 

less I put both myself and my child into slavery. 

Margaret (with calm and noble indignation) 
— ^How dare you say "my child?" What do you 
— what does any man give to the making of a 
child — a moment of passion's pleasure — 'while 
the mother gives the greater part of a year to' 
physical discomfort, burden and disability, cul- 
minating in an anguish of suffering, that has 
passed into proverb, going down to the very 
gates of death to bring her child into the world, 
to say nothing of two or three more years of 
wearing care of a helpless infant, from all of 
which you — every man — goes scot free. I wish 
you could feel my scorn when I hear you say 
"my child." 

Max (hotly) — Should not men wish to bring 
children into the world? 

Margaret — They should try to make this 
world such that women would wish to bring 
children into it, in spite of all the burden that 
nature lays upon motherhood — a burden that 
even the most ideal social order can only alleviate 
— never remove. 

Max (wildly) — How can I go back on my 
principles? I have committed myself to the 
social order with regard to them. Besides, mar- 
riage would be hell to me — I could not endure 
it! 



FREEDOM 49 

Margaret — And it makes no difference to you 
how much of a hell the absence of marriage makes 
for Rose and — your child ? You rave in fine 
eloquence to me. "How can I enjoy this world 
while my fellow beings suffer?" I ask you how 
can you enjoy what you call freedom for your- 
self at the expense of the unspeakable suffering 
of Rose and your child? 

Rose — Oh, yes, Max ! The unspeakable suf- 
fering of our child ! I foresee how she will 
suffer — sweet innocent — who has done nothing 
to bring that suffering upon herself, who will 
owe it all to her wicked, wicked mother. Oh, 
Max ! I do not ask you to love me ; I do not ask 
you to live with me ; I do not even ask you to help 
support our little one — I will work for her — I 
only ask you to give me — to give her your name. 

Max {to Margaret) — And what good will 
that do? Will that save her from this social ban 
and scorn that is a fiction of Rose's disordered 
fancy ? 

Margaret — You know that this is no fiction of 
Rose's disordered fancy. You know perfectly 
well that even the wicked and selfish desertion of 
a child by its father will not bring any reproach 
upon its head. You know well that only the re- 
fusal of the father to give it his name can do 
this. 



50 FREEDOM 

Max (sulkily) — The child may have my 
name. 

Margaret — You must give it your name in ac- 
cordance with law or it will not avail, as you 
know perfectly well. 

Max (excitedly) — I detest law; I will have 
nothing to do with law ! 

Margaret (sternly) — Max, answer me. If 
Rose had a father or brother who would threaten 
to horsewhip you — as you richly deserve for your 
conduct toward her — would you take advantage 
of the law to protect yourself from them? 

Max — This is altogether a different matter. 
One must protect oneself from public outrage. I 
detest the law in its interference with a man's pri- 
vate conscience. 

Margaret — Does not the marriage law protect 
a woman and her child from public outrage? Oh, 
blind, selfish coward that you are; unworthy the 
name of man! 

Max-t-So I am to be bullied by you two wo- 
men into doing what is against all my principles 
of life — doing what is virtually a recantation of 
my confession of faith, my teachings and my 
writings. 

Margaret — Do you wish to have the alterna- 
tive of driving the mother of your child to des- 
peration ? 



FREEDOM SI 

Max {to Rose) — Why, did I ever have any- 
thing to do with you? You have no character, 
no principle ; I will never live with you — I will 
never live with any woman. 

Margaret — Do you fancy after this that Rose 
would wish you to live with her? And even if 
she were such an unspeakable idiot she would 
have no power to make you do it, not even the 
law could do that. She wants you to legitimize 
her child, that is all, and the only thing for you 
to do is to get a license and a magistrate as soon 
as possible. 

Max — And then leave this part of the country 
forever! What a hell the social order is! {Goes 
out.) 

Rose — Oh, Margaret! How strong and brave 
you are! But wiU Max do what you said, 
Margaret ? ( Trent bling. ) 

Margaret — Yes, dear; he has no choice. If 
the facts were known the socialist party with 
whom he wishes to curry political favor would 
make it uncomfortably warm for him, and he 
knows this. He knows also that I will publish 
the facts if he makes it necessary. 

Rose — Oh, Margaret, do you not think that 
it is the thought of his child that will make him 
do it? 

Margaret — Perhaps, dear. Let us hope so. 






52 FREEDOM 

Rose — ^Hide me, dear Margaret^ until I can 
bring my little one home in honest arms — my 
little woman child-^h, she is so sweet, Margaret, 
so sweet and dear! 

Margaret — Yes, yes, (petting her) I am sure 
she is, and you shall bring her to me at first, and 
we will smile so into her little face that she will 
never guess that the world threatened to frown 
upon her. 

CURTAIN 



ACT FOUR— THE BEYOND MAN. 
Scene — The same. 

(Curtain rises upon Margaret and Angus 
standing, facing each other, clasping each other's 
hands and gazing into each other's face.) 

Angus — I have come up out of the desert, 
Margaret. I have solved my part of the prob- 
lem that I took with me. 

Margaret — And hov^ about my part, Angus? 

Angus {almost reverently) — It is for you to 
have solved that, Margaret. 

Margaret — But did you think for me, as you 
thought for yourself, Angus — as I have tried to 
do for you? 

Angus {smiling an unspeakably tender smile) 
— I did the best that a poor, blind, erring mortal 
masculine could do in that direction, Margaret. 
Every time I weighed myself as to any point I 
put you in the other side of the scale, and I tried 
very hard not to let you kick the beam a single 
time. 

Margaret — Oh, you dear Angus ! And you 
were true to yourself all the time? 

Angus — I think so, Margaret. 

Margaret — Come then and tell me every 
word of it — just how you reasoned it all out. 

Angus — Well, of course you know I couldn't 

53 



54 FREEDOM 

reason about my love for you, nor about, — 

Margaret — Nor about mine for you — yes, go 
on, Angus. 

Angus — So I just laid that on one side. I be- 
gan with the consideration of my second ideal — 
my work. I made myself realize to the full what 
a passion I had for it — what sacrifices I would 
make to carry it on. How I would almost rather 
die than give it up; and then I put you in the 
other side of the scale as to your — 

Margaret — As to my work in life — as to my 
passion fqr it — as to what sacrifices I would 
make to carry it on. How I would almost rather 
die than give it up — 

Angus — Yes, Margaret. 

Margaret — Oh, you dear, dear Angus! Go 
on. 

Angus — Then I magnified in my imagination 
the glory of my work, as to how I could help 
humanity by means of it, making myself realize 
at the same time that all constructive work, 
whether manual, intellectual, artistic or moral, 
helps humanity in the same way, and then I 
put you in the other side of the scale and saw 
how your work — 

Margaret — Could do this just as yours 
could ? 

Angus — Yes, Margaret, just as mine could. 



FREEDOM 55 

Margaret — Oh, Angus, can this be possible? 

Angus — Then I looked my first ideal in the 
face — my ideal of a sweet home, with the woman 
I love — with well-born children in it — mine and 
hers — with a wife who could nobly sympathize 
with my other ideal, who would love to help me 
in every way that she could to foster it — to live 
for it — and then I put you into the scale again, 
knowing — 

Margaret — Knowing that such an ideal was 
mine as well as yours — a sweet home, with well- 
born children, with a husband who would sym- 
pathize with my work, and help me in every way 
he could to foster it — to live for it. 

Angus — Yes, Margaret. Then I made my- 
self look steadily at the difference in our circum- 
stances. I thought of my three hundred a year 
and of your three thousand, perhaps, and realiz- 
ing that if our circumstances were reversed I 
would so gladly join forces with you to try to 
live the ideals of both of us, then I forced my- 
self to face the fact that you — 

Margaret — That I would as gladly join forces 
with you to help realize these ideals of us both. 

Angus — Yes, Margaret — 

Margaret — Oh, Angus, that was the way to 
think for me, as I would think for myself — as I 
would think for you. 



56 FREEDOM 

Angus — So much for our individual ideals. 
Next I saw that the best way, the only way for 
us to begin to live for that great social ideal 
that we both have at heart, the ideal of elevat- 
ing the race by doing everything in our power 
to foster the bringing of well-born children into 
the world, was — was — 

Margaret — ^To each do our individual part 
toward it. 

Angus — Yes, Margaret, and so to live for both 
our individual and our social ideas in our little 
way as best we could together — 

Margaret — Dear, dear Angus ! ( Gazing rap- 
turously at him.) 

Angus — Then I saw clearly that nothing but 
a selfish cowardice on my part, born of tradition 
and social standards, stood in the way of our 
living for these ideals together. 

Margaret — Dear, dear Angus ! ( Gazing rap- 
turously at him as before.) 

Angus — And so, Margaret, I have come up 
out of the desert to tell you that if you ask me to 
marry you I will say yes. 

Margaret — Dearest Angus, with all my heart 
do I ask you to marry me. {Putting one arm 
about his neck and caressing his cheek with the 
other hand as he bends his face down to hers.) 

{They stand thus for a moment in deep and 



FREEDOM 57 

quiet joy, Angus holding Margaret close and 
kissing her again and again slowly, while she 
continues at intervals to caress his cheek.) 

Angus (mischievously) — And so you think 
yourself evolutionary and not revolutionary, my 
Margaret ? 

Margaret (lifting her head from his shoulder 
and blissfully smiling up at him) — Yes, Angus! 
Why not? 

Angus — Don't you see what a social revolu- 
tionist — what a bold unwomanly woman you are, 
asking a man to marry you and offering him the 
inducement of engaging to support yourself and 
your children — turning the world upside down 
in fact — 

Margaret — Oh, you darling Angus! You 
know that it is only with you that I could do 
this, and that it is — 

Angus — Only with you that I could do this. 
Yes, dearest, and that reminds me that I weighed 
something else in those scales. 

Margaret — What dear? 

Angus — How shall I put it? Will you un- 
derstand ? One day I remembered what you once 
said about men being freer in marriage than wo- 
men. I felt that I did not wish to be freer than 
you. I thought of proposing to you that we 
should agree to have neither a spoken nor a 



58 FREEDOM 

tacit pledge of faithfulness between us, so that 
you might realize that the legal bond would be 
only for your protection from society, that I 
would not have it bind you in any way, that you 
would be free to live your life without account- 
ing to me for anything — as free as you are now 
— freer than you are now. 

Margaret (softly) — I have found him! I 
have found him ! — the beyond man. 

Angus — What do you say, dear? 

Margaret — I am in heaven, Angus, — ^that is 
all, — I could stay here forever! 

Angus (folding her close again and kissing 
her) — I shall need to be much away from you, 
Margaret in the years to come, on account of my 
work. 

Margaret — And every time you come home to 
me it will be as the first coming of my lover, 
my beloved, my bridegroom, my dear husband. 

Angus — And every time I come home to you" 
I shall enter anew into Paradise. 

Margaret — And we who shall be so free, 
shall out of this very freedom exaggerate the 
ideal of monogamy, and so be sufficient to each 
other in love as long as we both shall live. 

Angus — Sufficient to each other in life so long 
as we both shall love. 

CURTAIN 



^^^ ly 1904 



^•'^•■V^ 



